So blows this life into the mind
where lives a thoughtful energy
and it joins and dissipates the force
that once was paramount.
And in this mix creation’s orb
shrinks and shrivels, disappears
and becomes a servant to dis-ease
clothed in shredded leftovers
of its former glory.
To search and find and reinstate
what once made life worthwhile
like a chore unlisted on the board
of human existence.
Lonely is the voice in time
that calls with silent needfulness
for thought to rise and fight, fight, fight,
the dictates of a mortal life.
Creation’s orb is there somewhere
tattered, torn, not as before,
so blows this life into the mind
again, again, till death the end!
Helen / 22 September 2009